Freak
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: These apples haven't fallen too far from their trees. Originally a one-shot, but proved too long, so now will be a tiny little multi-chapter, which I hope you enjoy. :)
1. Chapter 1

**Freak**

Because the sun had succeeded in breaking the April rain, recess was held outside rather than inside today. The boys played football or raced on the jungle gym; the girls played hopscotch or with skipping ropes in their own little groups. But the six-year-old daughter of the world's only consulting detective and his pathologist had separated herself from the masses, which was what she, like her parents, usually did.

Anybody who even looked at her would know she was Sherlock's daughter on sight. She had inherited her father's black curls (which fell just below her shoulders), alabaster skin, long-fingered hands and Cupid's Bow lips. On top of that, she had inherited her father's genius brain, even if it was only six years old and still developing, and his unquenchable curiosity, fascination, and thirst for knowledge.

But equally present in her were the traits of her mother. She had Molly's petite build, heart-shaped face, rosy cheeks, button nose, and sparkling brown eyes. On top of that, she had inherited her mother's big heart, even if it was only six years old and developing, and her great capacity for compassion, patience, understanding and empathy.

Yet, even with both of her parents so prominent in her, she was undeniably her own person, as evidenced by what she was doing.

Though the children at St. Benedict Elementary School played on an asphalt playground, there was also a nice-sized garden, where flowers and vegetables grew. This was her favorite place on the playground, because everything else was just dull compared to it. Here there was life, movement, and energy everywhere; always something interesting to find, observe and learn. That is what fascinated her the most. While her parents dealt with crime and death, day in day out, her passion for life and nature were all her own.

Yes, indeed…Alethea Johanna Holmes was an extraordinary child who would change the world someday.

Though she was not playing with the other children, she was having the time of her life. She was focused on what was hanging from the low leaf of the tallest sunflower: a cocoon. She had spotted it two weeks ago, and had checked on it every day since. And now, the butterfly inside was coming out. The six-year-old didn't dare breathe as she watched the butterfly work its way out.

Unfortunately, since all of her focus was on the transformation happening before her, she never saw what happened coming.

Suddenly, her concentration was broken as dirt hit her square in the face, as if someone had kicked it. Alethea screamed in reaction, the dirt stinging her cheeks and eyes. After wiping as much as she could away, she turned to see where the attack had come from. She was not surprised to see a nine-year-old boy with nutmeg skin, a rat face, and brown hair even curlier than her own sneering down at her as he laughed in amusement.

"Got you, _freak!_" taunted Davey Anderson, looking proud of his work. "Look at you, crouching in the dirt. Trying to be a worm?"

"Leave me alone!" said Alethea, trying to imitate the tone her father used when he ordered someone around.

"Or what?" said Davey, crossing his arms. "What could a freaky little pipsqueak like you do?"

"Just go away!" was all the little girl could say, because she truly was no match for the older boy.

"Say please, _freak!_" On the last work, Davey lifted his foot, and used it to shove Alethea so she landed amongst the sunflowers. Alethea cried as her face and hands got scraped, and spit out the dirt that got into her mouth.

_"Leave her alone!" _she heard a familiar voice cry, followed by the sound of a childish scuffle. Still lying on the dirt, she managed to turn her head to see her best friend, seven-year-old Hamish Watson, engaging in a fight with older boy. Her teacher, Miss Kern, who had been supervising recess today, was rushing towards them.

As Miss Kern broke up the fight and ordered the three of them to come with her, Alethea saw something that was just too much in that moment: she had squashed the new butterfly when she'd been shoved, before it ever had the chance to fly.

Then she felt small, gentle hands helping her sit up. "Thea, are you ok?" asked Hamish, using his nickname for her only the Watsons used.

Alethea could only shake her head as a tear poured down each cheek. Hamish helped her up, and wrapped a protective arm around her as the walked behind the teacher, who was holding Davey by the collar and scolding him.

But neither that nor Hamish's protective comfort made Alethea feel any less miserable. All she could see in her mind's eye was the poor, crushed butterfly.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly Hooper Holmes softly hummed to herself as she straightened up their Baker Street home. It was her day off from work, and this was a chore she always did on those days. Her husband's habits were rarely normal, but ever since the couple had found out they would be parents, he'd made every effort to better them. Gone were the days of keeping body parts in the fridge, and all experiments that he and Molly conducted were done at St. Bart's – at least, those that were hazardous to their daughter in any way. But still, Sherlock had the organizational habits of a teenager at best; Molly didn't mind cleaning too much, being a neat freak.

As she finished scrubbing the kitchen table, her mobile vibrated in her pants' pocket. Pulling it out, the caller ID told her it was her husband's partner in solving crime. "Hey, John," she greeted, accepting the call.

"Hey, Molls," said John. "Just calling to let you know we'll be back in a few hours. Just wrapped up the case."

Molly smiled. Sherlock and John had been working on a case in Scotland for the past three days at the request of Mycroft. "Wonderful. I'm sure Hamish will be ready and eager for another adventure story. Tell Sherlock his girls will be here waiting for him."

John chuckled. "Will do, Molly."

"See you soon," she said, and ended the call. But Molly had barely picked up her rag again when the home phone started to ring. Furrowing her brow in curiosity, Molly dropped the rag again, picked up the phone and answered, "Hello?"

"Hello, ma'am, is this Mrs. Holmes?" said a soft, young voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes, it is, who is speaking?"

"I'm calling from St. Benedict's. The headmistress has asked that you come right away."

Any hint of a smile disappeared from Molly's face at this. "Why? What's happened? Is my daughter all right?"

"I don't know the details, ma'am, but apparently, she was involved in a fight with two boys."

_Oh, dear God, _thought Molly, cold fear filling her. "I'm on my way," was all she said before she hung up.

* * *

By the time the cab had arrived at St. Benedict's, Molly had eliminated the worst possible scenarios. If Alethea were seriously hurt, they would have informed her if she were going to the hospital. And a _fight? _Molly couldn't wrap her mind around that concept. She couldn't imagine her daughter initiating a fight, even though she was her father's daughter. Then again, Sherlock was someone who wanted to bring order to chaos, not create it.

It took all of Molly's self-control not to run down the halls of the school as she made her way to the headmistress's office. She knocked on the door rapidly, and was let in by the secretary, who said, "Hello, Mrs. Holmes, please come in."

Molly walked into a small, cozy waiting room, but the only other person inside was none other than Mary Morstan Watson, who looked just as surprised to see her as Molly was to see Mary. "Molly!" Mary exclaimed, and the two women embraced. Both couldn't help but feel relief; they knew that their children were the best of friends, just like their fathers – but, unlike their fathers, would never resort to fighting, especially Hamish.

They pulled apart and Mary said, "I'm guess you don't know anything, either?"

Molly shook her head. "Nothing."

"Please take a seat, ladies," said the friendly secretary, who sat back down behind her desk. "The children and Miss Kern, who was supervising recess, are in with the headmistress now," the secretary pointed to the forbidding door that led there, "and once Miss Donovan arrives, you can join them."

Molly looked sharply at the secretary. "Miss _Donovan_?"

"Yes," said the secretary. "Her son was the third child involved in the fight."

Molly sat back in her chair and clenched her eyes and jaw shut in anger. Mary gently touched her arm. "You know this child?"

Molly opened her eyes and looked at Mary. "No, but I know their parents. I'm sure John's told you of the forensic Sherlock hates, Anderson, and the Sergeant Donovan who calls him a freak?"

Mary's eyes widened in realization. But before she could say anything, Sally Donovan herself entered the waiting room from the hallway. "Hello, I'm Davey's mother, where is he?" she asked the secretary, worried. Then she noticed the other two women in the room: the blond who was looking at her in realization, and the brunette who was staring daggers at her. "Oh, great…"

"Speak of the devil," muttered Molly, giving Donovan a glare her husband would be proud of.

Donovan huffed and rolled her eyes. "Of course, typical. We don't even know what happened, and it just _has _to be _my _kid's fault."

"Well, since _our _children would never fight each other and don't try to pick fights, what other conclusion could be drawn?" was Molly's equally fierce reply.

Thankfully, the secretary spoke up as she put down her phone. "The headmistress says you can go in now."

All three mothers headed for the door and went into the headmistress's office. The formidable looking women that reminded Molly of _Harry Potter_'s McGonagall sat behind her desk, and Alethea's teacher, Miss Kern, stood by the window of the office. Each of the children were sitting in a chair facing the headmistress, and each of the mothers immediately walked towards their child with more than a little concern. Davey had a cut lip, and Hamish had a substantial bruise under his eye. But Alethea looked the worst: dirt smeared on her clothes, hands, face and hair; scrapes on her hands and one cheek; tear streaks down her cheeks. She sat with her feet on her chair, hugging her bent knees to her.

"Oh, Lithi…" muttered Molly, who knelt in front of her daughter and rubbed her shoulders. "I'm here, sweetheart."

Alethea made no reaction, except that her bottom lip trembled. But Molly understood this: like her father, her little girl hated to cry in front of anybody outside of her close circle of family and friends. Molly got up and turned to the headmistress, keeping her hand on Alethea's shoulder. "Why hasn't she been cleaned up?"

"She wouldn't let the nurse touch her," replied the headmistress. "Said she wouldn't let anybody but you treat her."

Even in this situation, Molly couldn't help but be reminded of Sherlock. After The Fall, Sherlock always came to her when he'd been injured, trusting only her rather than himself or Mycroft to give him the care he needed.

"What happened, ma'am?" asked Mary, who stood behind her son with her hands on his shoulders.

The headmistress heaved a great sigh. "I've just heard the whole tale from the children and Miss Kern. It seems that Mr. Anderson snuck up on Miss Holmes while she was by the garden. What was it that you did?"

Her tone and gaze made it very clear that this was a no bullshit area. Davey, who had his arms crossed, squirmed in his seat and mumbled.

"Speak so us human beings can hear you, please," ordered the headmistress.

"I…kicked dirt in her face and…shoved her…down with my foot," said Davey, not looking up from his lap.

Molly's mouth opened in rage, but no sound could come out. Mary looked equally enraged, while Donovan covered her face with one hand in humiliation.

"And what was the name you called her, Anderson?" asked the headmistress, her voice dangerously low.

There was a pause. "I called her a freak."

Molly closed her eyes and shook her head. She had a sick urge to laugh, but knew better than to do that in front of the children. "Well, well, well…" was all she could say when she opened her eyes and looked at Donovan, who was cringing into her hand. "Where on _Earth _could he have gotten _that _from?"

"How did Hamish become involved in this?" asked Mary, wanting to curb any shouting match that may occur.

Miss Kern spoke up at that. "After Davey had shoved Alethea down, Hamish yelled at him to leave her alone, and the two of them started fighting. I got there before any _worse _injuries could occur."

"Is that true, Hamish?" asked Mary, looking down at her son and wanting to hear something from him.

He looked up at his mother with the blue eyes he had inherited from her. "I just wanted him to stop hurting Thea. It wasn't fair, any of it!"

"Davey, _why_?" asked Donovan, her voice frustrated and humiliated. "The girl wasn't doing anything to you!"

"She…she…she's just weird!" exclaimed Davey in frustration, because he really had no better reason. "She never plays with other kids, she's always crouching in the dirt, and…and…you and dadcalled her weird once."

_"Excuse me?" _sneered Molly, her eyes blazing.

"Molly, I swear, I never!" cried Donovan, looking truly horrified.

"Yes, you did!" said Davey indignantly. "You and dad were calling her mum and dad freaks, and you said you felt sorry for their daughter because she had to be weird coming from them!"

"All right, that's enough!" said the headmistress with authority. And good thing, too: Donovan looked like she wanted to jump out of the window, and Molly looked like she wanted to strangle her. Everyone went silent and turned to her. "Now, Mr. Watson, I know you were helping a friend in need. I do not condone _how _you did it, however, and I ask that in future, you use words to either stop them or tell a teacher, not your fists. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Hamish, though he did not regret his actions one bit. Davey was a jerk, and Thea didn't deserve to be treated like that.

The headmistress turned a much kinder gaze to Alethea. "I am truly sorry for what happened today, Miss Holmes."

Alethea could only nod and look at her knees.

"Mr. Anderson, have _you _anything to say?" said the headmistress sharply to the bully.

Davey swung his feet out petulantly like a victim, and grumbled, "Sorry, f- I mean, Alethea."

The headmistress shook her head before turning to Alethea and Hamish's mothers. "Since there is only about an hour left of school, you two may take your children home now. I have a few more things to discuss with _these _two." Her sharp gaze fell on the sulking nine-year-old and his mortified mother.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Mary, who took Hamish by the hand and walked him out of the office.

Molly looked down at her daughter and gently helped her out of the chair and guided her towards the door with her hands on her shoulders.

Donovan tried to stop them, looking almost frightened. "Molly, please, I –"

"Even if I didn't tell my husband, do you really think he won't find out about this?" hissed Molly with no pity. "And I _certainly _won't feel bad for you when he does."

With that, she led her daughter out of the office.

* * *

The Holmes's and the Watsons each hailed a separate cab, parting with comforting words and hugs. After that, silence reigned between Molly and her little daughter. She expected this, after all her child had been put through today. She felt immensely glad that her husband would be home in an hour or two.

When they arrived back home, Molly wisely asked no questions or made no statements. She knew her daughter, and what she needed. With all of the tenderness a mother is capable of, Molly cleaned and bandaged her daughter's scrapes with the special floral bandages Alethea loved. Then, she helped undress her daughter and helped her take a bath, washing away all of the dirt.

The entire time, Alethea did not speak or even cry (but she was very close to it). It was not until Molly had helped put on her favorite pajamas that the dams broke, and Molly immediately held her child tightly to her, rubbing her back and humming lullabies as the tears flowed.

Alethea had held back the tears until that moment because she felt the same way her father did: Molly was the safest person in the world to trust with your tears.


	3. Chapter 3

For Sherlock Holmes, the best feeling in the world was returning home to his girls after successfully solving a case. Normally on these occasions, Alethea would run to him, calling "Daddy!" as she did, and he would scoop her up and spin her around in his triumph of solving the case and happiness of being home. Then Molly, who would watch this wonderful ritual with a silent smile, would approach him once he'd set their daughter down, and happily accept a greeting suitable for their daughter to see that would promise something even better when Alethea was asleep.

However, when he let himself into 221B Baker Street, he knew immediately that something was wrong. Alethea did not come to greet him; he saw no sign of her in the large living room. But he did see Molly on the sofa, sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked under her, and a hand at her face while her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

In an instant, he was kneeling before her. "Molly, what's happened?"

Molly jumped a bit, having not noticed her husband's return. "Oh, Sherlock!" she said, cupping his cheek and resting her forehead against his. "You startled me…" She sighed and turned her head away. It was better to tell him now than have him deduce it in some way. "Alethea was bullied at school today."

This news caused a rush of pure rage and sorrow to rush through Sherlock like a flash of lightning. He forced himself to stay calm and keep his expression neutral, however. He needed the facts and the details. So, he sat down on the couch beside Molly and took her hand. Her touch always kept him reasonably calm, so he kept her hand in his as he got the story from a sorrowful Molly.

Each word he heard gave him another drop of anger and another drop of sorrow. When Molly was finished, his eyes were closed as if he'd been personally hurt. The sound of Molly's despondent sigh opened his eyes, and he saw she was still trying to hold back tears. He hated seeing his Molly like this. Sherlock lifted the hand he was holding and kissed it.

Molly gave a small smile at the gesture. "I'm not the one she could be comforting now," she said softly. "She's in her room."

Sherlock looked in the direction of the staircase that led up to Alethea's room. He held Molly's hand more tightly, because he felt nervous. "What should I say, Molly? So many times I don't say the right thing when I try to."

Molly leaned forward, cupped his cheek, and turned his head to hers. "You know what she's going through better than anybody. Comfort her the way you would have wanted to be comforted at that age."

Sherlock knew that Molly was right. He must now do what his parents and brother had failed to do when he had been Alethea's age. Sherlock nodded to Molly to show he understood, and she kissed his lips, the best way of showing her faith in him as a father – which she had given him completely since the moment they had first discussed having a family. Sherlock knew that he would _never _be any sort of decent father if she were not by his side.

So, he got up from the sofa and walked up the steps to the door of Alethea's room. It was open slightly, so Sherlock peaked inside before entering.

The room that had once been John's had gone under quite a few changes since John had moved out. Now the walls were lilac, with white blossoms painted on it. There were potted plants and flowers around the room, as well as a junior chemistry set that he had given her for her sixth birthday. Alethea lay in a fetal position on her little bed, holding her stuffed panda bear close to her. Her eyes were closed, but her posture was anything but relaxed.

The sight made the father's heart painfully constrict.

Without saying a word, Sherlock entered the room, softly shut the door behind him, and approached the little bed. Alethea's eyes opened and widened at the sight before her. "Daddy!" she said, in a weak imitation of her usual joyous exclamation. "You're home!"

Still silent, Sherlock bent down with his arms outstretched. Alethea immediately dropped her bear and reached up to him. Sherlock picked up his girl as if she were still a baby, cradling her to him as he sat on the bed, his back against the headboard and his feet dangling over the end of the bed.

Alethea did not cry again, but snuggled close to her father. "I missed you," she said, and she had – the last three days had been very dull without him.

"I missed you, too," replied Sherlock, resting his cheek on her head. "But now the case is done, and I'll make sure to stay in London for a good long while."

"Good," said his daughter, who took a deep and trembling breath before saying in a despairing tone: "I'm sorry, Daddy."

Sherlock's eyes flew open, and he immediately pulled his head back to look at Alethea. "Alethea Johanna Holmes, what on earth are you apologizing for?"

"Mummy told you what happened, didn't she?"

"Yes, she did. And how could you think, for one moment, that it was your fault?"

"You always tell me to pay attention to what's around me," said Alethea, hanging her head in shame. "I was watching the butterfly come out of the cocoon, and didn't even hear Davey coming."

"Alethea, you spend all of your recesses by the garden, and something like this has _never _happened to you before. And you were focused on your observations, just the way I taught you to be. When I'm at my microscope or at a crime scene, my focus is just that great. Just ask your mother or uncle John."

"Ok," said Alethea, accepting this explanation. After a pause, Alethea remembered what Davey had said, and asked: "Daddy, why do people think me, you and mummy are freaks?"

"Because _other _people are i–" began Sherlock, but he stopped himself. He looked at his little daughter's face, and the resemblance to her mother was so striking, from the rosy cheeks to the doe-brown eyes. Every day, he thanked whatever deity that was out there that their daughter had inherited her mother's open heart and sweet personality. He'd been so cynical and pessimistic for as long as he could remember. He did _not _want that to happen to their child. So he took a deep breath and began again.

"Because other people either cannot or will not understand us."

Alethea furrowed her brow in confusion.

Sherlock sighed. "You are not the first one to be bullied, Alethea. I was bullied as a child because I always knew the answers and came from a well-to-do family. Your mother was bullied because she was very shy and had trouble talking to others. Some are bullied for the way they look, how they speak, some for what they believe or how they do things. No matter how wonderful or perfect a person may appear, there is always something that someone will find fault in and point out."

"Why do people do that, Daddy?" asked Alethea, who was sure that her father knew the answers to everything.

"It is one of the more ugly aspects of human nature," mused Sherlock. "People do it because they think it will make them feel better about themselves."

"Does it work?"

"No – it only makes them uglier." Sherlock held her a bit closer to him. "_Never _listen to bullies, and _never _take their bait or stoop to their level. You are better than that, just like your mother." He wished he could say the same for himself.

Alethea nodded but kept her head down, so Sherlock brought it up again with his hand. "Something else happened that has made you sad more than anything. What is it, Lithi?"

Because she had an uncommon name with four syllables, Alethea had several nicknames. Her teachers used her full name, but the other children she knew called her 'Ally.' And just as only the Watsons could call her 'Thea,' 'Lithi' was the special nickname only her parents could use, ever since she had been a baby. Hearing them call her that special name always gave Alethea a good feeling, and made her feel as safe as she could ever feel. Hearing her father call her Lithi gave her the courage to tell her what she was sure would disappoint him.

"Oh, Daddy…when I fell, I crushed the butterfly just after it came out of the cocoon. It never even had the chance to fly!"

Fresh tears came to her eyes, and Sherlock hugged her again. For two weeks, she had told him her observations with excitement about the cocooning butterfly, the way he talked of an ongoing experiment. He could easily understand her despair; he would feel the same (and quite a lot more anger) if one of his long-term experiments were destroyed just before they yielded the conclusive results. "I am so sorry that happened, Lithi. I will find a way to make that up to you."

"Really, Daddy?"

"I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

"Mum, Dad, can I be excused?" asked Hamish, putting down his fork.

"Yes, dear," said Mary. "Just take your plate to the sink, and then go and finish the lesson in your workbook."

"And let me know if you're cheek's acting up, ok?" said John as Hamish followed his mother's orders.

"Yes, Dad," he said. Manners had been well-instilled in him – especially when he couldn't believe his parents weren't angry with him for what happened and wanted to make sure it stayed that way.

After Hamish had left the kitchen, Mary gave her husband a soft smile. "I'm glad you aren't angry at him. He really had good reason."

John shrugged. "I've done worse to people who have done less to Sherlock. I'd be the biggest hypocrite in London if I threw the book at him." John sighed. "But poor Thea…I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, considering who the bully is…" He shook his head at his wife. "Sherlock's going to show no mercy the next time he sees either of them. It's not going to be pretty."

"After that meeting in the headmistress's office, I wouldn't hold him back unless he planned to actually kill them," said Mary dryly.

"I think if Sherlock does throw punches, I'll join him," was John's reply as he pulled out his phone. "I'm going to give them a call and see how Thea is doing."

With that, he dialed Molly's cell number.

"Hello, John."

"Hey, Molls. I'm so sorry about what happened today. How is Thea?"

"She's hanging in there. She and her daddy are playing with her chemistry set, which is taking both of their minds off the events of today."

John chuckled. "That's very good to know. Are we still all on for dinner tomorrow night."

"Absolutely. Is Hamish all right?"

"Oh, he's more proud of his war wounds than anything. I can't find it in my heart to be angry when I would do the same thing were I in his shoes."

"Thank you, John. He really is your son, and that's the best compliment I can give him."

John smiled with pride before turning more serious. "And how did Sherlock take it?"

Molly sighed. "He's furious. But thankfully, he's keeping it stored away for the next time he sees them. Do me a favor, John, since you'll most likely be with him when that happens: Don't try to stop him. I would have resorted to blows with Donovan in the headmistress's office had the children not been there."

John nodded in understanding. "It will be a hard time for me not to join in with Sherlock. We'll see you all tomorrow."

"Thanks, John. Bye."

* * *

Molly hung up her mobile and finished cleaning up the dinner dishes of tonight's spaghetti dinner with garlic bread (Alethea's favorite meal). Then, smiling, she walked up the stairs to Alethea's room, where the two people she loved the most were. Sure enough, when she opened the door, there they were, sitting on the carpet with Alethea's junior chemistry set going full steam. Both were engrossed in their experiment, but when Molly opened the door smiling, Alethea looked up, smiled, and eagerly said, "Mummy, come and see what Daddy showed me!"

"With pleasure," said Molly, who kissed them both on the cheek before joining them on the carpet.

* * *

"How not good would it be of me to give that mini-Anderson a good kick?" Sherlock asked later that night, after Alethea had been put to sleep.

Molly chuckled, her cheek resting just above his heart. "Very not good. Even if he is the spawn of Anderson and Donovan, save the rage for the parents who instilled those ideas in him."

Sherlock sighed, his index finger tracing up and down the bare skin of Molly's back. "I never knew how to feel selfless until you and her…if I could, I would go through childhood all over again to spare her this pain."

"So would I, love," murmured Molly, kissing his bare chest. "Especially since I thought we would never even have a child."

Sherlock craned his neck to look at her. "Why did you ever doubt that?"

Molly looked up at him, almost insulted. "Sherlock, you know perfectly well why! Since my diagnosis, my chances of getting pregnant were so slim!"*

"Well, I never doubted we would have a child sooner or later," said Sherlock matter-of-factly, but running his fingers through her hair to sooth her.

It worked. "How?" she asked.

"Three reasons," said Sherlock, moving so they both lay on their sides facing each other. "One, while your chances of becoming pregnant were improbable, they were not impossible."

Molly chuckled. "Well, _this _is new: you the optimist and me the pessimist. The next two reasons, please."

"Two, I never underestimated the power of the Holmes genes and virility. Just look at myself and Mycroft and how exceptional we are."

Molly smirked and placed her hand to his forehead. "You called Mycroft exceptional? I know how you are in the afterglow, but are you feeling ill?"

"I am perfectly fine, Molly," said Sherlock, taking her hand before shooting her a glare. "But _never _tell Mycroft I said that."

Molly laughed and laced their fingers together. "And the third reason?"

Now Sherlock smirked. "Three, we certainly put forth a great and consistent effort that was bound to yield some kind of result." He rolled Molly onto her back and began kissing her neck.

Molly laughed and sank her fingers into his curls. "Even though you've learned to be selfless, your ego is still as large as the sun."

Sherlock raised his head and genuinely smiled at her. "And yet you love me for it," he said, in a voice so tender one would think it could never come from the cold and calculating detective. And they shouldn't – this was a voice meant only for his Molly to hear.

Molly cupped his cheeks and gave him and returned his gentle smile. "Yes, I do. So, so much."

"And I love you for that," he whispered, before capturing her lips and making love to her a second time that night.

* * *

*** **_This is a reference to my previous story 'Below the Belt'. Please read if you haven't read it; though it is not necessary for this story, it does make it a lot sweeter. I just HAD to give them a happy ending in that department! _


	5. Chapter 5

"Would Miss Alethea Holmes report directly to the headmistress's office?" said a cool voice over the intercom that was linked through all of St. Benedict's. Alethea was surprised, and dreaded the possibility that it could be about what had happened yesterday. She just wanted to put it all behind her.

"Go on, Alethea," said Miss Kern with a kind smile. "You know the way."

Alethea nodded and made her way out of the room, ignoring the curious looks of her classmates.

She was immediately shown into the headmistress's office, where the older woman waited for her with a kind smile. Standing beside her was Mr. Freeman, the gardener, whom Alethea had often seen and even spoken to during recess if he happened to be working. She'd helped him on more than one occasion. "Hello, Miss Holmes," said the headmistress. "Please take a seat."

Alethea obeyed, holding her hands tightly together. "Is-Is there something you wanted, ma'am?" Just like her mother, she stuttered when frightened.

But the headmistress just gave her a warmer smile. "You are not in trouble, Miss Holmes. In fact, we would like to make you a proposition."

"P-proposition?" Alethea said, looking from one smiling face to the other in confusion.

"Yes. I know how much you love the garden we have outside, much more than most of the other students. I've talked it over with Mr. Freeman, and we've agreed that, if you would like, you would have a small square of garden for you to plant whatever you would like."

Alethea's eyes widened and her hands unclenched. "Really?" she said, looking from the headmistress to Mr. Freeman.

The man nodded. "Be glad to help you with whatever you choose."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, ma'am!" said Alethea, standing up and restraining herself from jumping for joy.

"It is the least we can do after what happened, dear," said the headmistress. "Now, cut along and go back to class."

* * *

Dr. Holmes was just sewing up Mr. Johnson when Sherlock burst into the morgue with a stride and smile of triumph. "I've found it!" he said.

Molly smiled. Her husband had told her his plan last night and was _very _glad he had found success. "In a park, I hope?"

"Yes, Kensington Gardens," he said, giving her a special look.

Her smile widened at another reason that place was so special to her and the ones she loved. At that moment, her mobile buzzed in her lab coat pocket. She quickly stripped off her latex gloves and pulled it out. The name on the caller ID confused her. _Why is he calling when he normally wants my husband?_

Hoping that they weren't about to receive some horrible news, Molly answered the call. "Hello, Greg, what can I do for you?"

Sherlock turned his head curiously.

"Hey, Molly. Sorry to do it this way, but could I speak to your husband if he's with you? You know he doesn't like taking calls."

"Ok…he's right here, hold on." Molly held out her phone to Sherlock, telling him with a look to just take the call.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, accepted the phone and said, "Lestrade?"

"Sherlock. When I came into my office this morning, I found a flash drive that is full of photos that consist of Anderson and Donovan in the New Yard, uh, doing things we would never show our children. I've had to suspend them right away, but considering just how far these go back, I wouldn't be surprised if my commanding officer demands I dismiss them permanently."

The consulting detective's eyebrows shot up, and a rare look of surprise spread across his face. "I…see."

"You understand why my first thought went to you as to the culprit, Sherlock," said Lestrade. "Now I know you can't stand either of them but _what _is going on?"

Understanding settled on Sherlock's face in the next moment. "I can assure you that I am innocent, Lestrade. If you want a culprit, I'm afraid you're going to have to accept settling with the British Government."

"What are you…_oh,_" said Lestrade when he understood what Sherlock was saying. "That makes a lot more sense. You would have just slugged them both. But why?"

"Well, the British Government's beloved niece was bullied by the offspring of your former employees yesterday at school. You can understand, I'm sure."

"_What?_" exclaimed Lestrade, who adored Alethea. "Well, thanks for telling me, Sherlock. Feel a lot less guilty now. Will contact you when we get a case for you."

Both men hung up, and Sherlock was left with a look of amusement and annoyance battling each other.

Molly approached him and took her phone back. "And what was _that _about?" asked Molly, who was fighting hard not to laugh at the look on her husband's face.

"It shouldn't surprise me that Uncle Mycroft would want to take revenge before me," commented Sherlock. "He always did want to show he was the older one."

* * *

After the last bell, Alethea and Hamish walked beside each other as they made their way to the front doors. Alethea was telling Hamish all about the headmistress's gift. "I can't wait to start! But I don't know at all what to plant – there are so many choices!"

"Well, it's _your _square of garden," said Hamish. "So pick what _you _like the most."

"You're right," said Alethea. She stopped them and faced her best friend. "Hamish…thank you for stopping him yesterday." She kissed his cheek shyly, imitating her mother when she thanked Uncle John.

"You're welcome, Thea," said Hamish proudly, his cheeks turning a bit pink.

They exited the school and walked out onto the large stone front steps. Other children hurried past them to the school buses, their carpools, and their locked bikes. On days like this, when her mother had to work, Alethea would walk home with Hamish, who lived only a block away from school, escorted by Uncle John who would wait for them by the steps.

But today, Uncle John was not alone.

"DADDY!" exclaimed Alethea, who immediately ran down the steps and into her father's arms. A laughing Sherlock swept her up in a hug that he should have gotten yesterday when he had returned from solving the case. Hamish followed behind her, and hugged his own father round the middle in greeting.

"Hi, Uncle John!" said Alethea, turning her head to the sandy-haired man.

"Hello, Thea," said John, giving her cheek a kiss. "Glad to see you so happy."

"Daddy, why are you here?" she asked her father.

"I've found something for you," said Sherlock, who lifted an arm not holding Alethea up for a cab. "Let's all go."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the group of four were hurrying through Kensington Gardens until Sherlock stopped at an inconspicuous bush. He set Alethea down and crouched beside her before turning to the Watsons. "You two stand guard. I'll stand for no interruptions."

"Aye aye, sir," said Hamish, imitating his father's salute (which he loved to do). John chuckled and nodded, knowing Sherlock's plan and very glad about it.

Sherlock turned Alethea towards the bush and pointed to a very specific leaf. "You see?"

Alethea did, and a huge smile lit up her face. "You found one, Daddy?"

"Of course I did! I spent all day looking for one, and it was a nice touch that it is now ready to come out."

"Yes, it's wiggling, it's happening!" breathed Alethea, going into her sharp observational mode with her father as they watched the butterfly break free of the cocoon. Hamish took turns watching it and looking around for any bullies that wanted to hurt his best friend. John just watched the two curly heads and smiled; seeing Sherlock like this was nothing short of a most welcome miracle. And when the butterfly had broken free, Alethea turned to her father and wrapped her little arms round his neck, whispering, "I love you, Daddy," into his ear. Sherlock hugged her right back, and said, "And I love you, daughter."

John's throat got tight at that one.

The newly born butterfly stretched out its wings and took its first flight. "There it goes!" said Hamish, pointing to it.

"Come on!" cried Alethea. With that, the seven-year-old Watson and the six-year-old Holmes ran across the grass, following the beautiful butterfly.

And the Daddy Holmes and Daddy Watson just stood there watching their children, not quite believing that a couple of freaks like them had been so blessed with their families.

**THE END**

* * *

**A/N: **_Didn't expect this story to flow so quickly out of me, but I suppose the best ideas fight the hardest to get out! Just HAD to get this cute one out. Please review and stay alert - this is hardly the last you'll hear from me in this lovely fandom._


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